


practical gifts

by Areiton



Series: in the aftermath [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Orphan Peter Parker, Parental Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is bad at feelings, Wakes & Funerals, bad coping, emancipation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: That’s the thing about Mr. Stark though--he likes giving things, and he doesn’t always think about the practicality of it.





	practical gifts

They buried her on a Wednesday, in the same graveyard where Ben was buried. 

It was sunny, sunny enough that Peter wore sunglasses to hide behind. 

It wasn't shocking. They'd known for almost six months that this day was coming. But it still  _ hurt _ . 

It still made him want to scream and run away, somewhere he could pretend this wasn't  _ real.  _

Tony's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him in place. 

They buried her on a Wednesday and through all the crying the condolences offered and words (fucking meaningless words) said, all Peter could think was,  _ I'm all alone now.  _

 

~*~

 

After the wake--a special, unending kind of hell--Tony steers him back to the waiting cars. Happy isn't driving. He took May's death hard, the unacknowledged romance between them snuffed out the first time she winced and stumbled over flat ground. 

They were superheros, unwound the worst disaster the universe had ever seen--but they couldn't fix this. Not even Loki and all his many magics and tricks could fix May. 

Peter thinks that is a special kind of hell, and he deserves it. 

He deserves it. 

If he didn't, why the hell would this keep happening? 

 

~*~

 

He read. Not at first, but when he had cycled through denial and anger and bargaining a few times, when May was down to ninety-five pounds and slept twenty hours a day--he read. He was sixteen now, almost seventeen--emancipation wouldn't be hard. And he had money. Not much, but enough. He could get by. 

He turns it over and over in his head, during the too long wake and on the drive back to the brownstone. Mr. Stark is silent, the way he rarely is. 

He isn't sure what will happen with Mr. Stark. He lives upstate, now, alone. He doesn't talk about why, after they undid everything Thanos did, he was alone. Why Pepper lived in the massive brownstone on Fifth Ave and he lived in the woods in the middle of nowhere. And it was fine. He spent three weekends a month there, and after May got sick, they practically moved in. He cared, even if he was hiding from the rest of the world. 

It’d change now. 

Now that May was gone and Peter was on his own. It would change, like everything else. 

He closes his eyes and tries not to think about it. 

 

~*~

 

“Ms Potts?” 

Pepper is in the kitchen. He isn’t a hundred percent sure why she’s letting him and Tony stay in the brownstone--it seems strange, given they aren’t together but it means he doesn’t have to go back to his and May’s empty, quiet apartment tonight, so he isn’t looking too close at it. 

“I thought you went to bed, sweetheart,” she says and he shrugs. Shakes his head. 

“I...um. I had a question?” 

Her head tilts, and she leans back against the counter, her attention trained on him and he feels a frission of nerves. “I was wondering--could I talk to one of the SI lawyers?” 

Her eyes widen and he almost backtracks. Almost bolts. But this is too important. 

He can take care of himself. He knows he can. He’s done his research and he’s looked at the money and it’s  _ doable. _ But he can’t handle the expense of a lawyer. “I just--I hate asking? But I need a lawyer to file my emancipation papers. And I can’t--I was wondering if you had any who do pro bono work? Or--” his heart is pounding, too hard, and he feels tears burning in his eyes. 

He wants to run. 

He wants  _ May. _

“I can--I can pay, I just--” 

“Peter, stop,” she says, sharply, and he does, so abruptly it feels like slamming into a wall. She doesn’t look angry, though. Her eyes are bright and worried, but there’s no anger there. Just bright clear worry and that familiar sympathetic pity he’s too used to. 

This is the fourth parent he’s lost. It’s not like this is new to him. 

“If you want to talk to a lawyer, of course, you can. If I’m not mistaken, Tony has assigned a team to be your legal counsel. I’ll make sure FRIDAY sends that info to you by morning. But--sweetheart,” she takes a tentative step forward. There’s something lurking in her eyes that he isn’t used to, and it makes his heartbeat speed up. 

He stumbles back a step and it makes her freeze, grief spasming across her face, before it goes carefully blank. “I think, Peter, you need to talk to Tony.” 

 

~*~

 

He sits in his bedroom. It’s not  _ his _ but he’s been in the same guest bedroom for almost two weeks, so it kinda feels like it might be. 

The information Pepper promised is on his Starkpad and in true Mr. Stark form, there isn’t a single lawyer--it’s a team of ten. 

It’s ridiculous. What the hell does he need with  _ ten _ lawyers. 

That’s the thing about Mr. Stark though--he likes giving things, and he doesn’t always think about the practicality of it. May was good at practical. She laughed herself sick when Mr. Stark tried to give him a Porsche for his birthday-- _ what the hell is he going to do with a Porsche, Tony?-- _ and carefully redirected him, to a laptop that was still  _ ridiculous _ and a trip to California that was  _ insane _ but it was a little more manageable than a  _ car. _

A tap on the door comes just a second before Mr. Stark opens it and slips into his room. The curtains are still pulled, but he can see Mr. Stark in the glow of his tablet, and the light glow of the housing unit on his chest. 

He looks worried, and maybe, just a little angry. “Sleep ok?” he asks, and Peter shrugs. He hasn’t slept ok since before May died. They both know it.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, and Tony’s lips twist a little. Bitter and self-mocking. 

He could write a book on the many expressions on Mr. Stark’s face. 

“You aren’t supposed to be worrying about me, you know, kiddo.” 

Peter shrugs. It’s easier to think about Mr. Stark than everything he’s lost, and everything looming in front of him. He bites back that confession and waits, patiently. 

“Pep told me about your request. You got your lawyer’s info?” Mr. Stark pauses, and Peter nods, obediently. “Good. Good.” 

“That’s why you’re upset,” Peter says, softly, and that doesn’t make sense. 

Mr. Stark is generous to a fault--he wouldn’t begrudge Peter a few hours of free legal advice, certainly not when he’s given him  _ ten _ freaking lawyers. 

“Why do you want to be emancipated?” Mr. Stark bursts out, and  _ oh.  _

Oh. 

“I don’t,” Peter says, quietly, picking at his blankets. “But--there’s not a lot of options? It’d be better than going into the foster system.” 

“The fos--Pete, what the hell?” Mr. Stark demands. 

Peter blinks at him and Mr. Stark shoves a hand through his hair, agitated. “I know I’m a mess, but I thought I’d be a step above working at Delmar’s to make the rent.” 

“Y--you?” Peter whispers. 

Mr. Stark stares at him, and there’s--god there’s so much there. 

Sadness and guilt and relief and maybe a little bit of hope and so much love it takes Peter’s breath away. “Yeah, kid. Me. You didn’t really think I’d kick you out on your ass, did you?” 

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how to answer. Because--no, of course he didn’t. But this isn’t weekend mentoring and over the top presents and midnight phone calls when Peter has nightmares. This is--”Why?” Peter croaks out, and he’s crying again, he can hear it, feel them sliding down his cheeks, hot and salty on his lips and he’s so fucking  _ tired _ of crying. “It’s--it’s too much, Mr. Stark!” 

“Kid,” Mr. Stark says, helpless, and he shifts, sitting on the bed next to Peter, tugs him impatiently until Peter uncurls with a soft noise and collapses in Mr. Stark’s arms. 

“Kid, I rewrote the universe to bring you back. Do you really think there’s  _ ever _ going to be too much?” 

Peter sobs, and clings to him, and the tension pushing his grief down--it dissolves, sugar under hot water, sand under the tide, as Mr Stark murmurs, “You aren’t alone, Pete. I promise.” 


End file.
